Crash Course
by chaotickatie
Summary: "Don't be stupid," He finally managed. "It's uncouth." Hermione blinked. "I'm not—stupid." He let out a small sigh, and stared up at the sky. "No." He decided. "No, you're just...you're unexpected." He turned to walk away, and stopped to glance back. "I don't hate you, or your poverty. I hate that you make me feel out of place." (Modern AU, ratings will change to M)
1. what's your name, man?

**Notes: This was going to be under the title 'Satisfied' to go along with 'Helpless' but I changed my mind last minute.**

 **Disclaimer: All rights belong to JK Rowling or other rightful owners. If you recognize anything it probably** **isn't mine and was possibly written by a super cool person like JK Rowling or Lin-Manuel Miranda!**

 _(see end of work for more notes)_

* * *

Hermione Granger frowned, vexed and impatient. She had been waiting outside of a _$2 admission_ Theatre for the past thirty minutes, desperately hoping that she didn't look like she was lost as she waited for Harry and Ron. The skin covered under her sweater was tacky, due to the unprecedented heatwave that had fallen over the East coast, never mind that it was _November_ of all months.

It was particularly gruesome, because New York was _never_ warm this time of year, and she looked down at her clothes in dismay, partly because it was almost _Christmas_ , for god's sake, and partly because her choice in apparel had _not_ been particularly forgiving to her appearance in the humid, afternoon air.

She wore a heavy, knitted sweater that had gone through the wash one too many times—handmade by Molly when they had first been introduced—form-fitting jeans that were unfortunately unripped and now rumpled in strange places, therefore doing nothing to help in her fight against the warmth, and battered red sneakers that felt muddy with sweat through the fabric of her socks.

Her hair itself was a whole other story.

She winced at the slight pain when she gathered the bushy and tangled clump, looping it through a tie to keep it away from her neck and sighed, deciding that there was nothing else she could do to lessen the onslaught of unwelcome perspiration.

Rearranging her 99-cent store, purple heart-shaped sunglasses on the slippery bridge of her nose, she glanced down at her phone to check the time.

 _"Wonderful."_ She grumbled, when she saw the bright text reading _3:04 pm_ on the cracked surface of her outdated iPhone.

The mutually decided time for their gathering had been 2:30, and even after half an hour with a short grace time, neither of them had bothered to show up. She recalled them mentioning a party they had attended the night before but she still couldn't help but feel irritated. She had a right to feel so, she reasoned, especially if they didn't have the decency to call in ahead of time.

Put out and downtrodden, Hermione awkwardly shoved her phone in her back pocket, stepping out of the shadows and into the busy streets of the city. The sun beat down on her in a merciless rhythm the moment she left the slightly cooler confines of the alley, and drummed against her sticky flesh. She scrunched her nose in discomfort, searching left and right for any store that offered air conditioning.

She almost cried in relief when she spotted a _Starbucks_ off on the corner of a four way intersection, and set off towards it in a half-jog, itching for the cool air that the shop oozed of in every poster advert and televised commercial. Dodging a couple of jaded businessmen clad in plain suits on the way, as well as a swarming sea of visiting tourists, she smuggled her way against the tide, and managed to reach the entrance doors.

The glass windows were decorated with festive lights and chalk drawings of candy canes and red-cheeked Santa's, and the sound of jingle bells rang in her ears when she stepped into the store.

The change in temperature settled in a blissful breeze over her shoulders, and she breathed in the nostalgic scent of roasted coffee and baked holiday delicacies. Finding a spot in line, she took out her phone and scrolled through her unread messages from Harry.

 _(3:09 pm) where are you?_

 _(3:09 pm) we're at the theatre_

 _(3:10 pm) ron's phone died_

 _(3:10 pm) are you running late?_

 _(3:12 pm) ?_

 ** _read at 3:15 pm_**

"I can help the next person in line!" Someone— _a b_ ** _ritish_** _someone—_ shouted from behind their station.

Hermione jumped in alarm and hastily pocketed her phone, shuffling towards the barista with mild embarrassment.

"Sorry." She mumbled, fishing through her bag for cash.

"No worries," The barista— _Blaise_ judging from his name tag—gave her an easy smile. "It happens more often then you'd think."

White teeth glinting against the dark tones of his skin, he wore a _Starbucks_ uniform baseball cap and a green polo shirt under his black apron, looking and _reeking_ of one of the multi-millionaire conglomerate business heirs that had attended the same lacrosse camp where Harry was scouted.

He looked like he didn't belong serving in the warm but cramped space of the coffee shop. He rather looked as if Hermione should be serving _him i_ nstead while he was on the other side of the cashier counter, a wad of cold cash in one hand and an impressive resume that could knock out any dean in the other.

"I'll have a tall black coffee." She said, handing him a couple of bills. Her phone buzzed again in her jeans and she discreetly switched it off.

Blaise smiled again and held a black sharpie in the air, jotting down her order.

"And your name?" He asked.

"Herm—"

"Zabini, where the _hell_ have you been?" A british and rich, if not _aristocratic_ voice drawled from behind them with a mixture of agitation and cool indifference.

A boy with blond hair and sharp gray eyes paid her no attention as he glared at Blaise. His pale skin looked stark against the dark contrast of his perfectly ironed and pressed suit, the silver glimmer of his cufflinks and tie shone under the swinging lamps, and his eyes bore into Blaise's with an unreadable expression.

He looked like an _asshole._

Blaise snorted. "Calm _down_ Draco. Honestly, it should be me asking where _you_ were last night. You disappeared as soon as the drinks came out. You do know that _they_ were there too, right?"

Draco scowled when Blaise mentioned _them,_ whoever they were.

"That's precisely the reason why I left in the first place."

 _"Obviously."_ Blaise rolled his eyes. "What was your name again?"

He turned around to face Hermione, waving Draco off as he peered at her over the rim of the paper cup, marker still in hand.

"Her—"

"I'll have a venti medium roast coffee that's only the slightest bit burnt with space for milk and a dash of cream." Draco lazily said, his eyes trained on his phone as he typed out an email draft.

 _"Excuse me._ I'm not sure if you were aware but there's a _line_ here, and I was in the middle of ordering my goddamn drink so I don't know who the _hell_ you think you are but you have _no right_ to just budge in front of me." Hermione held her nose high in the air, keeping her ground and trying not to feel infinitely tiny under his towering height.

She scowled at him as his eyes shot up from his screen, as if finally noticing that she was even occupying the room and blinked at her slowly.

She could hear Blaise holding back a laugh in the tense silence.

Draco adjusted the knot in his tie, loosening its hold on his neck and appraised her through soft strands of his hair that had draped over his eyes.

 _"Well?"_ She spat out, tapping her foot impatiently with her arms folded over her chest.

 _"Well,"_ He repeated in a mocking manner. "I'm Draco Malfoy and my father _owns_ this venue, so I would _really_ reconsider my attitude if I were you."

Hermione stared at him, unfazed.

"Honestly, what the _fuck_ is a Malfoy, because in my experience, some exotic name and an endless stream of money doesn't give you an excuse to not follow social protocol and etiquette." She snapped. Her cheeks flushed with anger and her eyes narrowed, feeling the need to one up Draco in their battle of glaring.

 _"For your information, my father has more power in his finger—"_

"What's your name!" Blaise shouted, his eyes darting between them like a tennis match spectator with desperation.

Hermione momentarily snapped out of her anger and turned back to Blaise.

"Hermione." She said with a small smile. She spun back on her heel and her mouth fell into a prim line at the sight of Draco. "If you think money has any hold over a person's value, you really need to re-evaluate your ideals in life."

"Thanks for the coffee, Blaise." She took the warm cup from his hands with a nod of affirmation, and swept out of the store without a second glance.

* * *

 **Notes: Leave reviews if you want! Updates might be sporadic until Christmas break.**

 _chaotickatie_


	2. comin' up from the bottom

**Notes: I planned to post this next week but I'm impatient so you're welcome for the early present :)**

 **Disclaimer: All rights belong to JK Rowling or other rightful owners. If you recognize anything it probably isn't mine and was possibly written by a super cool person like JK Rowling or Lin-Manuel Miranda!**

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"Hermione!" Two boys shouted in unison as soon as she walked out of the store, sounding breathless and agitated.

She brought her coffee to her mouth, drinking the slightly tepid liquid and immediately regretted her choice in a hot beverage. Trying not to retch, she tossed the cup into the garbage bin and wiped the remaining concoction from her mouth with the frayed edge of her sleeve.

Harry and Ron stumbled in front of her, red and black hair ruffling wildly in the wind, and she casually stared at them with a barely concealed look of distaste and indifference.

"Where were you? Harry asked, worry painting his soft features. "We looked everywhere."

He clasped one arm around the base of his neck and fiddled with the almost too-tight material of his khaki shorts with his free hand. His wiry glasses hung loosely on his nose, delicately perched on its end, resembling the take off of a raven and his _I want to believe_ t-shirt, bought from some shitty _Etsy_ blog was dull and in the process of becoming seamless after years of daily abuse.

"We were supposed to meet at 2:30," She supplied, arching an eyebrow with leftover anger directed towards Draco and his _father-will-hear-about-this_ mantra. "It's now—"

She looked down at her phone, tapping the screen. "It's now 3:20."

Ron looked at her incredulously and Harry grimaced belatedly, pushing his hand through his hair.

"I thought it was 3:00?" Harry bleated, his words muffled and quiet.

"Well, you obviously didn't bother to listen to my messages or texts last night." Hot bitterness pooled into her chest and she shot looks of contempt at him, although her words were directed at both of them.

"You don't have to be _angry,_ Hermione—" Ron cut in.

Hermione's eyes flashed towards him, her hair coming apart from her loose ponytail at the quick movement.

 _"And you!"_ She said, her voice shrill and grating to even her own eardrums. "What the _hell_ happened last night Ronald? It was _all over_ Twitter."

Ron mirrored Harry, his hand flying to his hair with exhaustion and exasperation. "That was—that was nothing." He said feebly.

Harry laughed under his breath and straightened his back when Hermione directed her frown towards him.

 _"Sorry."_ He muttered behind his hand. "It's just—it was quite hilarious, actually."

Ron glowered at him and huffed indignantly. "It was so _not_ funny. It was the complete opposite actually. Embarrassing, awkward, hazy, disgust—"

"Brilliant, daring, and the highlight of my night." Harry listed off, grinning at Ron's red face. "Anyways, it's not as if everyone was there to witness it."

Ron nodded distantly, shuddering at the memory and looked slightly more relaxed at Harry's words.

Hermione groaned at their obliviousness and opened up Twitter, shoving it into Ron's hands.

Two pairs of eyebrows shot up comically at the promiscuous sounds emitting from her speaker. The voices belonged to a drunk Ron and Daphne Greengrass—first daughter of her father's multi-millionaire enterprise, and a _dear_ friend of Ron's biggest rival, whoever that may be. Harry's laughter rang loudly in the stilted air, causing Ron's face to pale in record time, and mute her phone with fumbling fingers.

 _"Shit."_ He said, gripping tendrils of his hair painfully in distress, and dropping his chin to avoid the curious looks of those who had heard the moans around their huddled figures.

 _"Shit."_ Harry repeated with humor and clapped Ron on his back as a motion of comfort and reassurance. "Don't worry about it, it'll blow over. At least _he_ wasn't there, right?"

Ron squeezed his eyes shut and nodded in agreement. "Thank _god_ for that."

Shaking out of his momentary mortification, he gazed down at Hermione and blew out a harsh exhale. "So, what did you want to meet for anyways?"

Hermione shrugged, ushering them to walk down the street with a slight gesture of her shoulder. "I sent in the application for the internship and I'm supposed to go to the interview tomorrow."

Harry's eyes lit up with enthusiasm while Ron's furrowed with confusion.

"You got in?" He asked, bouncing on his feet, and bumping his arm with hers in familiar companion.

She rolled her eyes at his selective hearing. "I didn't get in _yet._ I still have the interview to go to."

"To the newspaper thing?" Ron piped in, the topic of conversation finally dawning to him.

"To the _New York Times,_ Ron." She said, reminding him for the millionth time and feeling a spark of pride at the company's name.

His face split into a broad smile and he tousled her hair in congratulations.

"It's about fucking time," He chuckled. "I guess the universe finally got its shit together, right?"

Hermione had been applying for the internship for months ever since she graduated from university, but had always gotten an almost too immediate letter offering their rejection and condolences. It had happened so often and so instantaneously, that she had almost filed a complaint on multiple occasions for any number of reasons. The most recent application she had sent in had taken suspiciously longer than usual, but had resulted in a clipped and professional email from a secretary, personally thanking her for taking interest in the position, and commending her for her success in her blog.

Ron flanked the other side of her, creating their iconic trio formation and she forgot all about the muddled heat when his arm pressed across the back of her shoulders.

In her peripheral vision she could see Harry grinning knowingly and her cheeks warmed self-consciously at their audience.

Her body faintly tensed when she realized how damp her sweater must feel to him and she blurted out the first thing she could think of, leaping away rom Ron's hold to face them in false excitement.

"We should celebrate!" She exclaimed, tucking her hair behind her ears.

Harry and Ron blinked at her in confusion for second before joining in her seemingly random bout of cheer.

"I'll call Ginny." Harry offered, palming his phone and dialing her number without looking down. If Hermione had to guess, she would probably assume that the main reason for his phone purchase had been to have easier access for conversing with Ginny rather than any other convenience. Like checking Hermione's message, for example.

Her bodacious voice bubbled with joy in an incoherent string of words in his ear and Hermione smiled sheepishly at his awkward invitation.

Harry lifted the phone from his ear and dipped his head in confirmation, placing his phone in his pocket.

Hermione was about to tease him about the rosy hue of his cheeks when Ron slipped his hand in hers, causing all insult to fall from her thoughts. Startled, she peeked down at their joined hands and back up to his face. Ron sported a gentle blush as well, and stared straight ahead, avoiding her look of confused discomfort.

Ducking her head at the rush of affection, the three of them headed to the Three Broomsticks Inn with heady mix of newfound relaxation and bemusement.

###

 **Notes: Leave reviews if you want! I read all of them and it makes me happy whenever someone drops by :) Also, does anyone having predictions for how this is going to continue? There's not much to go on so far but I'm curious to see whether you guys have opinions and guesses.**

 _chaotickatie_


	3. proximity to power

**hey there! it's been a while since i posted because i tried to sit down and work on another story which kind of ended up in creating a horrendous love child with one of my old ideas about alternate universes, so...if i post that anytime soon, i hope you enjoy it :) in other news, some reviewers thought that the relationship between ron and hermione was kind of all over the place, which i admit to but hopefully all will be put to rest soon once i post more chapters!**

 **disclaimer: all rights belong to their respective owners. i am not making any profit out of this story, neither am i claiming ownership over anything that readers may recognize.**

###

 _"Draco Malfoy?"_ Three out four slightly inebriated individuals spluttered with wide eyes.

Mid-bite in her deliciously toasted sandwich, she flicked her eyes over her wax food wrappings and shrugged at their blatant abhorrence.

"What's wrong?" She asked, her nose crinkling at the disconnection in their trail of conversation.

"He's a right _bastard,_ is what's wrong." Ginny blurted out, gripping the edge of the table with white knuckles as a look of fury blanketed her face. Harry struggled to keep her tall frame seated when she tried to leave the table in search of him.

Hermione barked sharply with a chuckle and nodded along with them. "You can say that again."

"Did he attack you?" Harry and Ron edged closer to her in their seats, mistaking her chorus of assent for one of physical confrontation. The legs of their chairs scratched at the wooden floor and the bartender glowered at them from behind the bar.

She blinked at them.

"He's not a rabid animal. He just said some things." She shrugged again and set down her food, unable to understand their hostility. Sure, she wouldn't mind knocking him down a few pegs, but she couldn't relate to them in their thinly veiled need to throw him off of his pedestal completely and chuck him over a flaming cliff.

"He's _Malfoy,"_ said Ron, shaking his head from side to side. "He's ruined—he's _sabotaged_ every match since he stepped into camp. Him and his _cronies;_ fucking Zabini and Parkinson."

"Oh, I know Blaise." She said with a bright smile. "He works at _Starbucks,_ did you know?"

This time, it was their turn to blink.

 _"You?"_ Harry asked with disbelieve. "You know Blaise Zabini?"

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I'm not completely inept at socializing, you know. He just gave me my coffee. Nothing _too_ dramatic or groundbreaking as me making friends, per se." She scoffed, brushing off a couple of wayward crumbs and cleaned her hands on a napkin before settling her hands in her lap.

"Although he's quite horrid at making it." She added distractedly, remembering the bitter and lukewarm taste that had swirled across her tongue only minutes before.

Harry, Ron, and Ginny all leaned back in their seats with matching dumbfounded expressions and shook their heads in sync.

"You _have_ heard of the great Potter-Malfoy war that's been going on for years, haven't you?" Ginny asked, pushing her red hair over her shoulder. "It's quite famous, from what I've heard on campus."

Hermione looked at Harry and Ron with bewilderment until the hundreds of tall tales featuring a fuming Harry and a spiteful blond boy pieced together in my mind with recognition.

 _"That's_ Malfoy?" She sipped at her pink lemonade in amusement. _Of course_ _ **they**_ _would be the ones to have conflict in a stupid lacrosse camp._

 _"Obviously,"_ Harry snapped, crossing his arms over his chest. "Do you know how hard scouting day was? He would have made it onto the team, if Cormac hadn't managed to knock him down."

 _"Only useless thing he did the entire game."_ Ron mumbled, his expression souring at the mention of McLaggen. Ginny snorted upon hearing his name and Hermione cringed, remembering her misguided acceptance of his proposition for Professor Slughorn's party a couple of years back. That was _not_ a golden moment in her past, and it was only worsened every time one of her friends brought it up.

"Oh, get off your high horse, Harry," She gulped down some more lemonade and stared at him teasingly. "We all know Dumbledore gave you the spot because he's just utterly _fascinated_ by your little back story."

 _"Not true,"_ He hissed, offended. "Plus, no one can even recognize who I am, anymore. It's been a million years since they arrested Riddle."

Ron and Ginny shrugged in acknowledgement and Hermione shook her head at his years of mastering a perfect look, crossbred between coolness and annoyance.

"Yeah, right. So the girl staring at you over there just happens to be attracted to your unofficial _X-Files_ shirt, then? I'm sure that she's looking forward to a _smashing_ day at Comic-con."

Harry shrunk into his seat with embarrassment, while Ginny whipped around to catch a good look. The girl in question had curly brown hair—although it was much softer and sleek than Hermione's had ever been in all her years, with suggestive eyes; heavy with half drooping lids, a thin red tank-top and a skirt, splayed out across her legs. She looked hauntingly familiar and Hermione squinted to get a clearer view of the girls face.

"That's Romilda Vane." Ginny and Hermione said simultaneously, the first with a vicious tone, and the second with a subtle lilt of glee.

Harry groaned loudly, hitting his head against the surface of the table with a dull thud and refused to respond to Ron's poking and prodding. He continued to hit his head in a slow, almost methodical rhythm until Hermione swatted him with a newspaper, much like she had upon the announcement of the Slug Club holiday party when Romilda had first taken notice upon him.

Harry lifted his head, his glasses pushed awkwardly on his face, and his hair sticking out in odd places. "Why _her?"_

Ron and Hermione laughed at the plain misery on his face, and Ginny settled back next to him with a look of satisfaction once she heard his reaction to the prospect of Romilda.

"Well, I mean I don't know why, but it sure as hell isn't your _X-Files_ shirt," Ron grinned at the drying patch of mustard on edge of the UFO. "Honestly, Harry, I'm pretty sure you've had that since our fourth year."

"It was our _fifth_ year." He corrected, letting his head fall against the crook of his folded arms on the table.

"Oh, awfully sorry for mistaking that _gigantic_ difference," Ron mocked. He turned to Hermione and flashed her a grin. "This guy goes through the entire process of school not knowing how to subtract properly, and now he thinks he's a fucking genius when he manages to correct me."

Hermione bubbled with laughter and rolled her eyes at their antics.

"Change of subject please," Harry sat up from his cocoon of angst, blushing at the sudden weight of Ginny's arm on his waist. "You were saying something about the interview, Hermione?"

Her eyes brightened with a building wave of babbling and she gushed out all she had wanted to say for the past hour or so. In her tumble of eagerness, she missed the grumble of opposition from Ron.

"The interview is basically my shot at interning at the _Times_ which might lead to a position as a journalist if everything goes well." She bounced from her chair and continued with renewed vigor. "I thought they would never let me in their pretentious little upper class club, but the person who runs the training and hiring had his secretary push my interview to an earlier time. At first I was confused because they rejected me _thre—"_

"—Three times." Her friends finished her sentence with constant practice.

 _"Three times_ before _._ And did you know that in one of them they said that my blog was un—"

"—Unprofessional."

 _"Unprofessional."_ Her hair shook wildly around her face and crackled with energy. "They even had the auda—"

"—Audacity."

 _"—Audacity_ to call me out on unoriginality and—and _lack of creativ—"_

"—Creativity."

"Wait." Ginny cut in, with a sharp laugh. "So the biggest newspaper company in New York called you out on being _extra?"_

Hermione stared her down unappreciatively at her interpretation.

"They did _not_ call me out on being _—extra."_

"Looks like they did to me." Ginny giggled at her anger and turned to Harry and Ron. "That's what you think happened too, right?"

Harry nodded immediately and Ron jerked his neck in agreement, mid-laughter.

Hermione sniffed haughtily. "Well—I suppose it'll all be sorted out tomorrow, then."

"About that!" Ginny clapped her hands together. "You need something to wear, don't you?"

Hermione stared at the redhead skeptically, preparing for the worst-case scenario.

"You are most definitely _not_ allowed to choose my outfit." Ginny's face didn't fall, like Hermione had hoped, but instead, grew larger. "Besides, I was just going to wear something comfortable."

Ginny arched an eyebrow at her doubtfully. "Yeah? Pray tell, Hermione, what _exactly_ were you planning on wearing?"

"My suit." She said evenly.

Ginny shuddered violently and made to stand up from her seat. Grabbing Hermione's arm, and pulling her from her chair, she waved the boy's goodbye, all the while ignoring Hermione's pleas to let go.

"We'll see you later!" Ginny said merrily as she dragged her through the exit of the pub.

Hermione whimpered helplessly and decided that the worst-case scenario was currently taking place in real time, and that she was most assuredly unprepared for it.

###

 **leave reviews and all that good stuff! if you find any typos (which there are most definitely a lot of) you can PM me to let me know :)**


	4. three fundamental truths

**a/n: hello! sorry to any of you who thought my recent (and now deleted) chapter was part of the story and not an update but hopefully this will make you happy :) some of you guys might not like this chapter since its sort of a filler but it's also the longest one i've written so far so i don't really know if that makes it any better...anyways, on towards the story then!**

 **disclaimer: i don't own harry potter, or any other recognizable ideas/plots/etc. not making money from it either, only trying to develop my ability to write!**

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Hermione was drumming her fingers against the soft material of the shirts Ginny had chosen in what was probably the fourth store they had visited that afternoon in slight agitation. Ginny was hidden from view, behind racks of over-colourful and most definitely _over-priced_ articles of clothing, and while Hermione was to be the one attending the interview, Ginny seemed perfectly content in picking out a few pieces of her own as well.

In the midst of another uneventful period of zoning out, a ruby red blouse flung across the hangers and landed itself on Hermione's face, covering her eyes unceremoniously. Being an experienced shopping partner of the redhead, it didn't come as much of a surprise to her when a second shirt in _the same colour_ dropped on top of the first, before Hermione had the chance to bat them away.

Though Ginny couldn't see her expression—being too busy finding more blouses to suffocate her in—an unimpressed roll of her eyes flitted across Hermione's face as she peeled the shirts off and added them to the overflowing pile on her arm. She continued to trail behind her zealous friend and shuffled her feet forward, wishing she were at home, with a good book, curled next to Crookshanks, instead of using money she didn't need to burn.

Looking down at her cramped arm, she decided to intervene in Ginny's mildly shopaholic-esque adventure.

"I think that should be enough, Gin." She sighed, motioning to her countless options that decorated her arm. "I kind of look like a butler, now."

Ginny snorted and shifted her eyes away from a rather scandalous looking dress and settled on Hermione's with a serious look, raking over her current state with mock intensity.

"But I though that was the look you were going for?" She cocked her head to the side curiously, and let a small grin loose.

Giving into her request, she walked off towards the fitting rooms, waving at Hermione to follow and crashed onto one of the leather couches. Pointing lazily to the curtained stalls, she gazed at Hermione expectedly, and skimmed through one of the fashion catalogue's that had been displayed on the same coffee table where her feet rested.

Awkwardly making her way to the first room, Hermione yanked the heavy material of the purple curtains behind her and dropped the clothes on the wooden bench without much care. Stretching her arms to relieve some of the discomfort, her joints in her elbows popped and groaned, and allowed some of the tension to leave her shoulders when she rolled her neck from side to side.

Throwing her shoulders back in confidence to brace herself, she faced her inanimate tormentors and tried not to think about the numbers that would inevitably take up residence in her already dwindling bank account. Though she wasn't physically struggling at the effort to support herself, she was still an independent and recent graduate, who had a somewhat large tendency to spend night and day online. Raised to believe in making money for oneself, and paying for your own responsibilities and privileges alike, she rarely ever sought out her parents for financial dependency. She had Harry to butt in during times like those, as unnecessary as it was. It seemed to be that Harry didn't quite see the logic in using either his inheritance or his parent's insurance money for himself, but instead spent it on his friends without their request or asking. If you asked her, he did it most to Hermione, because he knew how much it irritated her when he bought things she could have easily gotten herself, or not at all for that matter.

It had been this way since she had first met him in boarding school, far in the dark alleys and hidden archways of _Hogwarts School for Learning and Excellency._ She had met him and Ron in one of the train compartments, whilst searching for Neville Longbottom's toad, of all things. They had all been rather puzzled over his preference in pets, as if they were _wizards_ or something on their way to practice magic, never mind the fact that Harry had brought an owl.

They had all been rather peculiar children, but while others had been just that, Harry had been different on a whole other level—not exactly in the bad way, but in the sense of loneliness and curiosity. He had a natural feeling about him that led others to gravitate towards him just because he was _him,_ even before learning about his fateful—and evidently _famous_ backstory.

As a child, Harry had witnessed the deaths of his parents, survived a blow to the head, been housed in the home of abusive relatives for years—despite the fact that his own godfather had sought his rightful position as his guardian in their stead—and managed to pick out the infamous serial killer _Tom Riddle_ in a lineup of usual suspects when he was only _five._

It really hadn't come as a surprise when the Headmaster of Hogwarts himself had taken a liking to America's very own phenomenon, and poster boy for justice.

But it had come as an even bigger surprise when Harry had opted for a career in sports over training in the law enforcement academy, as many had expected of him.

Hermione understood why he had done so. While Ginny and Ron had both attended the highly esteemed camp where Harry had been scouted, they hadn't had to feel the constant attention of both the media and the public all at once.

She remembered the night Harry had told Hermione about getting the spot on his favourite team, both of them leaning against each other as they watched the skyline, tumblers in hand and liquid untouched.

When they were younger, the stars had been more visible, and she had been able to spout the numberless amount of mythological stories behind each constellation, while Harry would point in random spots in the glittering sky, jabbing the air as if it were tangible.

Maybe it had been, at that time. That's how it had felt to them, anyways. Everything had felt more real—every emotion and aspiration held so tightly against their chests that even magic seemed possible, if they just wished loud enough or hard enough.

For Harry, it had always been a one-man show: him against the world and everything in between. It had taken him years to realize the extent of how deep friendship and loyalty ran, for it had never offered its hand when he needed it most. It hadn't for most of the children attending Hogwarts, either.

Shaking out of her reverie, Hermione snatched a random blouse and skirt, tossing off her clothes, and shrugging them on.

"You done?" Ginny yelled from her seat, causing Hermione to jump in alarm, mid-tug in struggling with her shirt.

"Almost!" Her announcement was mumbled through the surprisingly soft collar of the very same ruby red blouse from earlier, and the pleasant frame billowed around her head, creating a momentary sea of hair and skin and fabric, making mundane sounds warp and shrink into themselves.

Ginny made a noncommittal sound, and settled further in her seat, the leather stretching in what could be described as a grimace, if couches were capable of doing so.

Finally managing to right her clothes, Hermione faced the side mirror and smiled faintly. So, maybe she looked nice in them, but that still didn't mean she was about to use money on it.

She stepped out behind the curtains to show Ginny, who had managed to squash herself into a reclining position, and swung her arms at her sides, unable to decipher the emotions washing over her friend's freckled face. After a few minutes of excruciating silence, safe for the soft elevator-like music drifting from the store's speakers, or the bustling of the city outside the glass doors, Hermione finally took a defensive stance, and crossed her arms over her chest, her face flushing with heat.

"Well?" Her voice sounded shrill, like an unpracticed jerk of a violin chord. She tapped her fingers against her ribs, awaiting her judgement.

"Well," Ginny started, sitting up from her spot and placing the magazine back on the table. "I think you need better shoes."

Hermione blinked at her and directed her eyes at the well-worn sneakers she had come to depend on through the months. "So am I getting these, then?"

Ginny smirked, readily passing her phone over with an outstretched hand. Hermione looked at it warily, already knowing what to expect, and answered the confused voice on the other line.

"Hey, Harry."

After a few beats of silence, he answered in a hushed tone.

"Hey."

"Ginny's making you buy me clothes, isn't she?" She tucked a curl behind her ear and sighed. "I'm not a charity case."

Another beat of silence.

"I know. I—"

"Well, then you know that I don't like it when you treat me like one!"

A strangled noise of exasperation made its way out of Harry's throat, and she could almost _see_ him pulling his hair in frustration and cleaning his glasses with the edge of his shirt.

 _"_ _I know."_ He said. "I know. But this is going to be a big day for you and—and I want you to be _happy."_

It was her turn to make a strangled sound, "There's a world of difference between being happy and being flippant with your bank account, okay? I just—you're not allowed to do this to me. You promised."

"So—you're angry." It wasn't a question but Hermione answered nonetheless.

"I'm—I just don't feel the need in using someone else's money, is all."

He let out a stream of breath and gave in to her wishes.

"Then you'll be glad that I transferred some into your account. Technically it's _your_ money now."

He hung up faster than you could say _quidditch—_ a funny word that Dumbledore had liked to use in nicknaming sports—leaving Hermione to furrow her brows in distaste, and Ginny to skip off towards the counter, with _Hermione's_ card in hand.

"Wait—when did you get my card!" She yelled to her across the room. "Ginny!"

###

Five shoe stores, and one pair of _sensible_ heels later—at her own request, although much to Ginny's dismay—the duo sat in the patio of a sandwich and ice-cream bistro, enjoying the moment of icy sweetness.

"So,"Ginny asked her once she reached the waffle cone of her ice-cream. "You and my brother?"

Hermione swallowed her bite too fast, the cold dessert leaving an unpleasant feeling along her insides. Taking her time, and attempting a nonchalant nod, she wiped any residue off of her mouth and stared at Ginny with mock confidence.

"I—suppose." A perfectly groomed eyebrow arched with obvious disbelief. "It's nothing official, but he likes me, and—and I like him."

Ginny let out a goodnatured laugh at her fumbling, and placed a warm hand on top of hers in a gesture of support. "Are you trying to convince me, or are you trying to convince yourself?"

Hermione thought about that for a moment, churning it inside her head and rolling it around her tongue. _Did she like him?_ She supposed she did. She liked him well enough, and certainly _long_ enough. It had been _years_ since she first showed any interest in Ron, although it was only recently that he managed to catch on.

"Yes." She said, nibbling at her plain ice-cream cone absentmindedly.

"Yes, you're trying to convince me," Ginny used her spoon to point at herself. "Or yes, you're trying to convince yourself?"

The spoon made its way in front of her face with its offending plastic-flimsiness and Hermione dodged to the side, pushing it back towards Ginny.

"Yes, I like him." She said, rolling her eyes.

A puzzled look crossed Ginny's face and she tilted her head to the side, as if trying to solve an enigma.

"But does he like you?"

Silence fell between them again, and it was only later, when Hermione was settled in her bed, that she realized the answer was no.

###

 **a/n: please leave reviews (positive or** ** _constructive_** **please) and a big thanks to everyone who has followed/favourited/reviewed so far! i love you :)**


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